


The Ink Spot and Snapdragons

by KittenKin



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Alternate Universe, Language of Flowers, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:02:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenKin/pseuds/KittenKin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A (short) six part story based on a prompt by rabbitminnow, of a tattoo artist and florist AU!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coronella

The first time he paced through Snapdragons, he wondered if he’d stepped into an enchanted wardrobe or perhaps crossed the threshold of a TARDIS. Based on the width of the storefront there wasn’t any more square footage in the flower shop than in his newly opened tattoo parlor just next door, but whereas The Ink Spot had been declared a bowling lane by his brother ( _“You mean a bowling alley?” “No Fai, just one lane.”_ ) the flower shop seemed as if it was at least twice the size, if not more.

After a second walk-through he realized that the sense of a larger area had been created by hiding some of the wall space and crafting a meandering path through the shop. Customers had to walk around displays and peek into alcoves instead of being able to quickly walk a few steps and then take everything in with a brief look. The wares were laid out quite naturally, which helped the illusion. There were big vases on the floor filled with long stems of pussy willows and curling branches. They were so tall that they couldn’t have been put on a table without breaking branch tips against the ceiling, so it made sense for them to be placed as they were, but Fai could see how they helped to guide a person along a path that dipped and curved through the store. Lattices full of small hanging plants and topiary balls helped to soften the walls, too, and made it harder to judge the dimensions of the shop.

The air was fresh and cool and quiet, adding to the sense of having stepped into an enchanted pocket of a forest. All that was missing were tiny fairies flitting around in violet flower petal gowns and dewdrop coronets, trailing sparkles and mischievous giggles. Contrary to expectations, he found a person behind the counter who looked as if he’d be more at home with an axe or chainsaw in his hands instead of the tiny scissors he was trimming some baby’s breath with. He was taller than Fai who was taller than average himself, and muscular where the tattoo artist was slender so that Fai might have been able to squeeze both himself and his twin brother into the man’s shirt. After a few surprised blinks, Fai recovered himself and stepped up to the counter with a smile and self-introduction. He was listened to patiently while he explained why he was there - _I don’t actually know; just something nice and cheerful for my counter?_ \- but got grumped at a bit when he attempted to draw the man into small talk while his order was being formed.

He left with a compact bouquet of golden, sun-shiney flowers bursting out of a cube of green glass plus a great deal of curiosity about his new business neighbor.


	2. Fish Geraniums and Chamomile

His first bouquet started to look a bit droopy after almost a week, so it went home with him on Sunday night, and Monday morning found him in the neighboring flower shop again.

“Rough weekend or busy day ahead?”

Fai blinked, coming out of a daze he hadn’t been conscious of falling into. He’d stepped inside and let himself drift in the refreshment of air cold and moist enough to keep flowers fresh even in the middle of a smoggy summer. The most potent and pungent blooms were kept in the furthest corners near ventilation, so the air was pleasantly perfumed rather than cloying and close. It was all so peaceful and he was so weary that he might have lost himself - and the first hour of his business day - in that soothing atmosphere if not for the gruff inquiry.

“Pardon?” he asked, buying himself a few seconds to process what he’d heard but not really listened to.

“You look dog tired,” the florist said bluntly, though not without concern just barely visible in the way he looked over. Fai chuckled and drifted over to the counter to briefly explain that his first week in business for himself had been more taxing than he’d foreseen. Unfortunately it had not been because of having more customers than he could handle, but rather the opposite, plus the emotional strain that went along with constant nightmares about a failed entrepreneurial dream. Some of his brother’s money had gone into launching his business, too, which only added to his anxiety. He segued into a few examples of failed expectations, talked through them enough to come out determined to overcome his troubles on the other side of his story, and wound up cheering himself up.

“Oh! Wow I’ve been talking your ear off for almost twenty minutes straight!” Fai exclaimed, glancing at his wristwatch and then casting about a little helplessly at the large selection of plants all around him. “I haven’t even picked flowers yet.”

“Twenty bucks,” was the response, along with a nod at a bouquet that had somehow magically appeared on the counter between them.

It was a brilliant cluster of big red blossoms dotted with daisy-like white flowers with large yellow centers. The whole bouquet spilled so far over the edges of the clear glass vase it was in that it almost looked like a sphere floating above the counter. It was arrestingly, almost aggressively cheerful. Fai never would have ordered those two highly contrasting flowers together yet it was somehow perfect and he loved it immediately.

“Did you just make that?” he blurted amidst a few admiring exclamations, and when the florist nodded, demanded, “When?!” even though that question had already been answered.

“While you had your face in your hands crying about your no-show on Thursday.”

“I was not crying,” Fai protested, but he pulled out his wallet and handed over a twenty with no demurring. This arrangement was much larger than the one he’d purchased at the same price last week, and he had a faint suspicion that he was being given some sort of pity discount. The hunch wasn’t strong enough for him to voice, but he did stuff a ten into the tip jar before putting his wallet away.


	3. Hyacinths

The Monday morning bouquet run became a part of Fai’s weekly routine. He’d begun by letting the florist - who was named Kurogane, as he found out - pick out the flowers to use from simple indecision. Soon enough it became the set start to his work week for him to waltz into Snapdragons and start chatting as if he was only there for a social visit. Kurogane always listened for a minute or two and then - perhaps growing bored - began plucking stems out of this container and that without any input from his customer. Somehow or the other the arrangement never disappointed, as if Kurogane had some sort of sixth sense when it came to what type of flowers would suit Fai’s mood.

Of course it might have also been that Fai was growing increasingly attracted to the gruff yet gorgeous florist and would have found ways to be delighted with even a lopsided cactus in a styrofoam cup.

He began stopping by on other days too. Business was not exactly booming, so when convenient, he ate his lunch during idle hours and spent his actual lunch break next door, attempting to pester Kurogane into a date. The florist shrugged away every outright overture but didn’t seem entirely averse to spending time together in general. There was sometimes a bit of growly grousing about people who had too much time on their hands and not enough ideas on how to use it effectively, but it seemed to just be Kurogane not wanting to admit that he enjoyed the company. Fai thought it adorable.

He did get told to help out instead of just hang out, though. After his pop-ins became routine instead of random, Kurogane began giving him things to do during his longer visits. Fai measured out drops of fertilizer into watering cans, wrapped finished bouquets in tissue and cellophane, and one memorable day, put all of Kurogane’s freshly delivered hyacinths into the snapdragon bins while helping unpack newly arrived inventory.

“It says ‘snapdragon’ _right here_ ,” Kurogane said, jabbing a finger at a small label stuck to the side of a plastic bin.

“That would be very helpful if I knew exactly what a snapdragon looked like,” Fai replied, refilling his arms with long stalks of varicolored blooms. “You should have little pictures, too. I bet the customers would love it.”

“Why would they need pictures? The flowers are right in their faces.”

“Not always; sometimes you run out,” Fai replied cheekily, a bit sassy for knowing he had logic on his side (for once). He nodded at the bin he’d just emptied out to emphasize his point.

Kurogane never actually conceded the matter, but when Fai showed up the next day with small watercolor renderings of various colors of hyacinths in glass vases, he didn’t hand them back or toss them aside. The florist stared at the paintings long enough to make Fai shuffle nervously and start babbling, then wordlessly affixed them to card spikes and began placing them into the appropriate bins.


	4. Periwinkles and Lilac

As time passed Fai grew busier at his own shop, with bright smiles and harmless chatter helping to smooth away a good deal of the prejudice that had been harbored against his business by people not quite as pragmatic and open-minded as Kurogane. The Ink Spot was as cheerful as any salon and he made sure it was kept scrupulously clean, as much for his health inspection certificates as for his own satisfaction. To someone who only took in the waiting area, it might have even seemed like a gift shop or stationer’s, with a cheerful bouquet and a revolving rack of Fai’s hand-made greeting cards the first things to catch the eye.

Idling customers who browsed through the cards often expressed amazement that he could paint such pretty landscapes and whimsical animal designs, to which Fai always responded with a laugh. It puzzled him to no end that people should be surprised that the person they were coming to for tattoos could _draw_. Some brand new customers even seemed to think that tattooing was merely copying, and copying merely a transfer of a design from one flat surface to another with little artistic merit involved.

Fai just smiled and let his work - both on paper and on living canvases - speak for itself. Even tattoos that were only text required an artist’s hand and eye, after all, and he was capable of much, much more. Once a customer felt the bite of the needle, they’d understand that he wasn’t taking their money in exchange for licking water-transfer tattoos onto their skin or pressing a button and having a special inkjet print the tattoo onto their skin as if they were a photo-decorated birthday cake.

He made quite a few friends, got enough customers to content himself for the present and give himself hope for the future, and kept on working on his crush.

His Monday morning visits continued and remained about half an hour long at least, with Fai handing over new watercolors and giving highlights about his nights since Kurogane still wrinkled his nose at the idea of a proper date. He attempted to wheedle details about the florist’s personal time but for all his questions, only came away with a vague idea that Kurogane spent a lot of time just hanging out at home. Which was somewhere nearby, and that was about as specific as the florist would get.

Fai did get confirmation that the man was single, at least, and though he continued to fail at luring his work-neighbor out to a fancy dinner and hopefully halfway decent movie, he was at least never told flat-out to quit flirting. Feeling that he had permission to continue his attempts to court the taciturn shopkeeper, Fai began intruding himself on the flower shop at midday with cartons of take-out or neatly packed lunch boxes from home, leaving a sign on his door stating that he was at lunch but could be found in the shop next door. Out of respect for the atmosphere, he steered clear of pungent choices such as fish and Indian curries, and when he found that the florist had no fondness for sweets, left dessert off of the lunch menu as well.

Though he hadn’t schemed it that way, his offerings soon netted him a return on his investment of artwork and food. He stayed open later - _far_ later on Fridays and Saturdays - than his neighbor and after a while it became a new part of their routine for Kurogane to close up shop, buy some food, then head on over to The Ink Spot. If Fai was busy he simply camped out as if he was a waiting customer, and if not, they sat down together behind the register and ate dinner. Sometimes the florist even came over with plastic tubs packed with home-cooked meals, and while it wasn’t gourmet dining, Fai reveled in the coziness of it.

Tidying up their empty food containers led to Kurogane taking out all the trash, and that in turn evolved into the florist sticking around so that he could help Fai re-set the entire shop for the next day’s business. The ever so slightly awkward goodbyes at the door paved the way for inquiries about where the other was parked, which way they were going and on one particularly late night, how long a drive they had before them. It turned out that they were fairly near neighbors, and after a shuffling pause Kurogane suddenly blurted,

“We can carpool if you want.” He said it as if it was a dare or threat and even kicked at a nonexistent pebble like an awkward schoolboy, and Fai might have laughed if he hadn’t been so eager to pounce on the offer.

“I want!” he exclaimed immediately, but then deflated a bit as hindsight nipped at him firmly. “Oh, but…you’d be stuck staying late every day we carpooled.” Conscience demanded that he point this out and let the other man back out, and this bit of virtue was rewarded by Kurogane shrugging the matter off.

“It’s fine,” he replied, eyes wandering everywhere but to Fai’s hopeful gaze, but his voice steady. “I’m here late most nights anyway and it’ll save on gas.”

Fai had no more objections to bring up, and soon they’d traded home addresses and determined what time Kurogane would pick Fai up the next morning. Fai didn’t feel brave enough to drop a quick peck on the florist’s cheek yet, but he did sidle up and give his new carpool partner a friendly shoulder nudge.

“Thank you,” he cooed, and laughed when he unexpectedly had his hair ruffled.


	5. Purple Pansies and Heart’s Ease

They worked out a schedule for carpooling, trading off one week at a time to keep things balanced and do away the need for worrying about who was bearing more than their fair share of the gasoline expenses. Whenever schedules allowed - which was more often than not - Fai brought lunch to Snapdragons and Kurogane brought dinner over to The Ink Spot. As the tattoo parlor grew busier, Fai had fewer opportunities to play hooky but he hardly missed them, what with carpooling and having most of their meals together. He continued to create watercolor cards for Kurogane’s wares, but instead of seeking out which flowers still needed cards himself, he relied on Kurogane to tell him the plants’ names and the internet to show him reference pictures.

Fai also stopped pestering the man to go out for a fancy dinner.

“Not into the wine and roses thing,” Kurogane had finally admitted one night on the way home, looking away and scratching absently at the back of his neck as if he was somehow embarrassed at having confessed this. “I’d rather just hang out with someone. Feels more real, like family or home, than the whole dating game when you’re dressing up and going all-out to impress.”

The first full week that it was Kurogane’s turn to pick up and drop off, Fai casually began inviting him up to his apartment for coffee or tea and some couch-potatoing every two or three days. He had a whole strategy ready to dangle different kinds of bait, partly to see what might interest the man and partly so he didn’t just sound like an annoyingly persistent broken record. The first time, he mentioned an interesting movie just come out on Netflix, and two days later chatted about the new season of a superhero show. That Saturday night, he attempted to interest Kurogane in an old movie he’d been meaning to watch for years and had just remembered that day, and when that failed, pondered baiting his hook with sporting events and reality shows next.

He wasn’t surprised that his first few invitations produced no fruit. He was floored, however, when Kurogane invited him in for a bit the following Monday when he dropped the man off at his house. They had a couple of beers on a comfy old couch and Fai bemusedly sat through a documentary on rattlesnakes. A python named Ginryuu lounged majestically in a massive terrarium at the back of the living room, and Fai wondered if he would have had better success in luring Kurogane over to his place if he’d suggested watching “Anaconda”.

Occasional nights spent watching television on one of their couches were added to the routine. Sometimes they had a late lunch and saved dinner for home, for the sake of having a home-cooked meal and not having to microwave it hot again. And on one memorable Friday night when Fai had a nervous customer back out of an appointment at the last moment, Kurogane let him use the free time to paint a large dragon slithering down his left arm, from his shoulder all the way down to the back of his hand.

The next Monday he got his bouquet free of charge. In exchange for the temporary tattoo, Kurogane said, and Fai walked back to his shop with a pretty little arrangement of pansies in light and dark purple and an irrepressible smile.


	6. Red Tulilps

Fai pursed his lips thoughtfully and dabbed at his sketchbook without really paying attention to what he was doing. That was part of the joy of watercolors, though; sometimes mistakes looked even better than carefully planned brushstrokes. He even had a whole series of floral greeting cards which were just random splatters and blobs of color, with some thin lines of ink added afterward to guide the eye into seeing petals and leaves. Right now, however, he was just absently spatting paint down just for something to do with his hands while he pondered over the problem named Kurogane.

The problem was not actually Kurogane himself, but the question of whether or not Fai’s crush - a simple word much easier to deal with than the phrase “possibly hopeless one-sided love” - on him was going to really get anywhere. Sometimes he could almost trick himself into thinking they were already dating, what with all the time they spent together and the little almost-intimacies that Kurogane had grown into allowing him. Fai’s trick of randomly butting his head or shoulder against the florist like a cat during quiet moments sometimes got him a head-ruffle. Most couch-sessions had Fai’s feet planted in Kurogane’s lap.

But on the other hand, when the movie or show of the evening was over, Fai’s feet were still in Kurogane’s lap, not dangling over the edge of the couch as they kissed. They still picked each other up in the mornings instead of waking up together. Kurogane had other friends that he was nowhere as cozy with as he was with Fai, but that still only meant that they were good, possibly best friends. “Only”, of course, was a terrible word to use. Friends was still better than strangers, and he was grateful to have the man in his life in any form. But love was demanding, insatiable, greedy. Fai wanted more.

The problem was, he wasn’t sure how to go about asking for it. For all his years, Fai hadn’t had what he thought of as a proper relationship. There’d been girlfriends and boyfriends and lovers, none of whom he’d parted all that amicably from. In hindsight, he could see the mistakes made and hoped he was wiser and much better suited for a partner now. The question was how to proceed. Slowly ramp up the flirting? Ask outright?

After plotting out various seduction scenarios - none of which seemed practical - he glanced down and had to laugh. While absorbed in his thoughts, he’d nearly covered the small rectangle of thick paper with red; it would be hard to make this into anything but a mass of poinsettia. After a moment he tipped his head and stared at the big blobs of crimson some more. It rather reminded him of the second bouquet Kurogane had made him, and he tried to recall what the flowers had looked like. He’d painted a card for them, of course, but that had been a long time and many flowers ago, and all he could determine for sure was that they’d had a funny name.

The next day when he slipped over to Snapdragons with lunch, he found the counter several customers deep and took the opportunity to browse around the store, hoping to satisfy his curiosity about the red flowers he’d sort of accidentally painted the night before. He found them - and his little watercolor card - soon enough. “Fish Geraniums” was on the card in his carefully showy script, but to his surprise he found the phrase, “Disappointed Expectations” in small, neat print along the lower edge. He glanced to the left and right at other red blooms, and found similar additions to the cards he’d made. The anemone card read “Forsaken”, and “Never to Meet Again” was squeezed in under the painted spider lilies.

Well, this was confusing and depressing.

The tulips had “Declaration of Love” on them however, and the red roses simply read “Love” and Fai realized that the phrases were very likely the messages associated with each plant in the language of flowers. He slipped over to the daisy-like flowers that had made so vivid a contrast to the fish geraniums and found a slightly more cheerful message; “Energy in Adversity”. Fai tipped his head and thought back to the day Kurogane had made him the eye-catching bouquet. It was only his second week in business for himself and he’d been struggling but determined to fight through.

Disappointed expectations and energy in adversity. Hm.

He glanced back to the counter but Kurogane had only worked through one customer’s order. Fai began prowling around the flower shop, checking out the cards for flowers he remembered having on his counter. There were too many to remember each and in order, but some bouquets stood out in his mind. His very first; a brilliant cluster of flowers that were apparently named coronella. The message was “Success Crown Your Wishes”. There’d been a stunningly elegant waterfall of purple columbines once, which stood for “Resolved to Win”.

His bouquets hadn’t always been subtle encouragements. He’d been given some long spears of hyacinths the first time he’d helped - and messed up - re-stocking the shop. Those stood for playfulness. Coreopsis meant “Always Cheerful”, and he supposed that to someone of Kurogane’s stern, stoic demeanor Fai might seem unnaturally up-beat. He snorted when he got to the delicate little fig marigolds. He’d been chased out of the shop one Monday morning after spending more than his usual amount of time chatting, and ended up with a sweet little arrangement of short-clipped blooms stuck into a rectangle of floral foam on his counter. They stood for “Idleness”.

And then there were the real surprises.

Lilac stood for “First Emotions of Love”. Kurogane had wished him happy with the volkamenia. The lavender and purple pansies meant “Think of Me” and “You Occupy My Thoughts”. The wreaths of yellow acacia, “Secret Love.” Fai got a little confused between the English roses, Japanese camelias and ranunculus which to his untrained eye all looked rather similar. He wasn’t vain enough to think Kurogane thought him loveliness perfected, but wasn’t sure the florist was the type to compliment - or even notice - someone’s complexion either.

A sudden spike of paranoia had him jumping up from the roses and flitting here and there, examining flowers he’d drawn cards for but didn’t recall having in his shop. If there were other meanings equally romantic and encouraging scattered about then perhaps the idea that Kurogane had been sending him secret messages all this time was only coincidence, fueled by imagination and optimism. Happily, the next few cards he read supported his hopeful theory.

He only had time to browse a handful more cards, however, before the chime of the door caught his attention. Fai popped up from behind a stand of carnations to find the last customer disappearing through the door with an armful of cellophane-wrapped bouquets, and Kurogane giving him a puzzled look.

“I’m hungry,” the florist said, leaning his elbows on the countertop and blowing out a tired sigh. “Quit playing hide-and-seek and get over here.” Fai grabbed the bag of sandwiches and salad he’d been hauling around with him all around the store and - on adrenaline-fueled impulse - grabbed a jonquil out of a plastic tub after quickly confirming its meaning.

“Here,” he blurted, all his usual loquacity deserting him as he thrust the bag and its single stem at the other man. Internally he was already screaming at himself that this was the worst idea _ever_ , and he had had some doozies of bad ideas in his life. He had no confirmation that his hypothesis was correct, no thoughtful speech prepared, no plan at all except this half-baked idea of shoving this flower _that he hadn’t even paid for_ into Kurogane’s face and hoping that the florist understood and - most importantly - reciprocated his “desire for a return of affection”.

Kurogane flinched back a bit at this rather aggressive offering, but took the bag into his hands automatically. The cheerful and out-of-place bloom caught at his eye and he stared at it for a moment before glancing at Fai, then the arrangements that the tattoo artist had been burrowing in most recently, and then back again to the blond who was starting to shift nervously from foot to foot in a sort of impatient and increasingly embarrassed death-dance.

To Fai’s everlasting exasperation, Kurogane set the bag down on the counter, lifted the jonquil out and then walked away without a word. Fai wondered despairingly if it was just going to get put back into water, as if the flower had accidentally hopped into the bag as it passed by and needed to be tucked back in like an errant child. He thought to himself that it would have been better if the florist had just quoted him a price for it, and began thinking up ways to quietly fake his own death and go live with his brother. Maybe they could pretend to both be the surviving twin, and they could trade off days being out in public.

But Kurogane returned, jonquil still in hand along with a big, beautiful pom-pom of a flower. He detoured slightly, picking up two tall vases and filling them with water, then returned to where Fai was slowly reviving. The jonquil went into one glass cylinder and the pale pom-pommy thing went into the other before being slid across the counter to a mystified Fai.

“Umm…chrysanthemum?” he guessed. The florist snorted audibly and shook his head. When Fai realized that he wasn’t going to be given a simple answer - no surprise; the florist had been communicating silently for months in a language Fai didn’t even speak - he dashed away with his flower in hand to match it to its card. He flew back a moment later, grinning madly and only pausing long enough to set his vase down safely on the counter before throwing himself at Kurogane, making him drop the sandwich he’d been about to take a bite of.

Double aster. “I Share Your Sentiments.”


End file.
